


Episode 5: The Ship is a Metaphor?

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Ordo, Clone Wars era, F/M, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Sibling drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "I like to think it's a euphemism." ~FentShips are more than just vehicles. They're someone's pride and joy, someone's home, someone's reminder that life has to go on..





	Episode 5: The Ship is a Metaphor?

The ride back to Duxn was uneventful and quieter than either hunter wanted to admit. It’d been a week since Cara disappeared. Beon couldn’t help but worry and Fent couldn’t help but pace up and down the transport each time guilt hit him. Making matters worse was the lone tuft of fur Beon found snagged on the door latch as they cleaned up the hut. He almost took it with them, but decided to burn it on the stove under their last meal before take-off.  
“One more stop,” Fent kept muttering, still pacing the isle.  
They had to dump their ship after Hoth. Too much ice and de-icing fluid gummed up the gears; they almost crashed getting to Tatooine. Beun is going to kill me, Beon grinned, imagining his sister’s face when they take a transport back to base instead of her ship.  
“What did you do to my baby???” she’d shout, probably after skinning him alive.  
Thinking of the way her nose would wrinkle and how hard she could punch momentarily took the guilt away..momentarily. It hit him in waves almost matching the turbulence as the transport descended into Onderon’s atmosphere. What had she done to deserve what was happening to her? He tried to push the thoughts away. At fourteen, most Mandalorian children could hold their own, but she wasn’t mando’ade. She might not know how to defend herself. What if.. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, stretching lightly as the spaceport came into view. Hands on his hips, Fent stared out the window over a pair of chattering droids. Beon couldn’t see his face through the visor, but the way he startled backwards made his stomach knot.  
Beun tapped her arm, eyes burning as the two men stepped onto the platform. Fent avoided her gaze and itched his neck uncomfortably.  
“She uh...flew like a-”  
“Not a word.” she snapped, eyes fixed on her brother.  
Beon, helmet off, tried his best not to falter under her fiery gaze.  
If anyone thought it wasn’t possible for a red Twi’lek to become any redder, they hadn’t met Beun. Her pinkish-red skin was a boiling almost blood red around her cheeks with a twinge of purple as she held her breath in frustration.  
“One request,” she shouted, jabbing her brother in the chest, “One simple request: don’t wreck my ship!”  
“To be fair,” Beon boldly pushed her hand away, “The ice did more damage than we did.”  
“And yet you left her to rot on Tatooine!?!”  
“How were we supposed to take it-wait how did you know?”  
Beun gave him an “uh are you stupid” glare. “Well you got here on a public transport and you really don’t think I have my baby registered in every ship log I can get my hands on? The moment that junker tried to scrap her I got a ping from my contacts.”  
Fent fidgeted, “Lemme guess, the scrapper is-”  
“Sarlacc food.”  
“Right… good,” he gave her a thumbs up, moving ever so slightly away from her.  
“Beun-”  
“Not another word,” she smushed her palm against Beon’s mouth. The redness in her cheeks began to lessen and her eyes grew softer, “Ugh, vod,” she began, but stopped.  
“I’m sorry about the ship, really,” he offered, putting a hand on her shoulder.  
“It’s.. alright,” she looked up at him, eyes misting, “She’s on a freighter now. Should be here any day now.”  
Beun grasped his forearm and pressed her forehead against his.  
“Heh, I’m still taller,” he chuckled.  
“And I’m still older,” she retorted, wrinkling her nose but smiling still.  
“What am I? A nobody?” Fent complained, wrapping his arms around them both.  
Beun blew a raspberry into his cheek and nuzzled his nose.  
“I missed you both.” 

She’d never let him forget this and Beon knew it. Between combing the logs for the mystery Mandalorian, Beon helped his sister fix up the ship and get it back in working order. Guess I have two things to feel guilty about, he thought, scrubbing the exhaust vents. Beun spent the better part of three years putting her dream ship together. Blaster proof glass, custom overhead shield toggling, vintage upholstery, and just enough room to fit five people comfortably. He’d told her over and over that most ships in her budget would only fit two or three people, but he knew she wasn’t just thinking about cargo space. She swung above him on a harness tethered to a crane normally used for lowering engines into the various speeders the clan owned. Fent was sitting below her on top of the ship, screwing down loose panels or handing damaged ones up to her. As she came around, she “accidentally” knocked aside his goggles with one of her lekku. He retaliated with a shove, spinning her around and twisting the cables. Beon nearly fell over laughing as the cables unwound themselves, turning her into a spinning red blur. Dodging another smack, Fent grabbed onto her arms and slowed her down. She smacked him anyways.  
“Are you two ever going to get married?” Beon threw the old rag down into the bucket by his feet.  
“Are you ever going to get married?” Beun mocked, sliding off the harness into Fent’s lap.  
Beon rolled his eyes and climbed up beside them. The breeze billowing in through the open bay doors felt nice on his arms. It was raining, a nice sight after their month in the desert. Beun fussed with an old bruise on Fent’s arm, chastising him for not dressing it properly. In return he squeezed her tight and kissed the small gap between her lekku, chastising her for not wearing her headgear as she squirmed. Watching them, sometimes Beon forgot Beun was almost eight years older than them, making it awkward when his comrade showed interest in his older sister.  
“I’m going to marry her someday!” Fent said from under Beon as the Twi’lek held him down in the mud.  
“Don’t talk about my sister like that!” he’d shouted through tears while the other children laughed and jeered.  
Jiik had intervened, pulling the two boys apart and making them run laps around the base until he was satisfied that they wouldn’t start fighting again. By the time Jiik let them go, they were barely awake on their feet. They almost didn’t believe them when he came for them in the morning instead of their normal trainer. He said something about telling them just before he dropped them off that night. Neither argued with the veteran, who promised not to mention their scuffle to Beun granted they put the work in he required his students. They agreed. Made us better men, Beon fondly remembered all the weeks out in the jungle past the areas most children were trained in.  
He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to ignore the constant PDA, choosing not to join their hunt for a good drink after dinner. He felt no need to remind Fent about his mission to locate Cara. It would kill the mood, he figured as he and Beun walked off arm and arm down to the cantina with a few of Beun’s friends. 

Aviila swiped the image out of the air and turned her chair around. Cara was tentatively making her way into the cockpit, eyes darting from one piece of equipment to the next, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. The older woman smiled and gestured to the seat beside her.  
“You’ve never been in space?” she surmised as the teen’s jaw dropped.  
They were passing the last few star clusters before they officially entered into Wild Space; an asteroid lumbered into view, pockmarked from past collisions.  
“It’s so…” Cara trailed off, watching the mammoth object float by, “I’ve never-”  
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aviila watched as it disappeared from view, “I guess I hadn’t appreciated it before.”  
“You fly often?”  
“Mhm,” she hummed, leaning back in her chair, “It is my job to meet with outsiders. I am away from home for days at a time.”  
Cara nodded, but felt a twinge of jealousy. Had she not been in a stranger’s ship heading who-knows-where she might have been excited, no-ecstatic that she was off the farm and on an adventure. But… something in Aviila’s expression didn’t sit well with her.  
“Does it ever get lonely?” Cara asked, settling down in the chair.  
“...No.” Aviila slowly said, sitting up and pulling a small silver disk from her pocket.  
She set it on the floor and a blue image projected into the air. Three figures, two males and a female, flanked a smiling Aviila in the holo picture. The tallest, a Zabrak, was giving an energetic thumbs up, the Twi’lek beside Aviila was mid laugh, and a human male under the Zabrak’s arm was trying to get free but grinning just as broadly. All four wore matching armor, furs, and pectorals; Cara could just make out scars and bruises dotting their features like Aviila’s. The older woman’s eyes lingered over each figure with a yearning Cara couldn’t place. After a moment, she swiveled back to face the stars. Cara followed her gaze, not knowing what to say.  
“Where they your friends?”  
Aviila nodded.  
“What happened to them?”  
Aviila looked over at her with another unreadable expression, opened her mouth to speak, but closed it without saying a word. 

They traveled in silence for an hour, Cara quietly marveling at each celestial body they passed; Aviila smiled sweetly each time a tiny gasp escaped her lips. Eventually, Cara grew tired and shuffled back to the sleeping quarters after a sleepy “goodnight” to her companion. Now alone in the cabin, Aviila turned back to her comrades preserved eternally in the holo image. 

No death ever goes unpunished.


End file.
